


Damned if You Do: Damned No Matter What

by gracefultree



Series: Thought Experiments on House/Wilson Beginnings [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: Wilson invites himself to House's apartment for Christmas because his wife has been giving him the cold shoulder.





	1. Damned if You Don't

**Author's Note:**

> This is another story in my Hilson collection. I hope you all enjoy. Unlike most of the others, this one has chapters, so be prepared. They're all written. I just have to post them.

“You wanna come over for Christmas dinner?” Wilson asked. 

“You’re Jewish,” House responded. 

“Yeah, Hannukah dinner. What do you care? It’s food. It’s people.” 

“No thanks.” 

“Maybe I’ll come to your place,” Wilson offered with a tired sigh. 

“Your wife doesn’t mind being alone at Christmas?” 

“I’m a doctor. She’s used to being alone.” Wilson looked up in time to see House’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Neither do I,” House responded quickly. 

. 

. 

. 

“This is the third year in a row you’ve ditched your wife on Christmas to come to my place,” House commented over the Chinese. 

“Yeah, well, didn’t we already decide neither of us wanted to talk about it?” Wilson asked. 

“True.” 

“I mean —“ 

“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you? You’re gonna tell me?” 

“We haven’t had sex in five months.” 

House reached for his beer and waited, knowing there was more and curious to find out the details. 

“I asked her to try something, and she’s barely spoken to me since.” 

“Are we talking Japanese rope bondage?” House wondered. “Or dressing up like babies? Or bringing her hot twin sister into bed? She’s the one with the hot twin, right? Because that would be —“ 

“Anal sex,” Wilson barked. “I asked to try anal sex, and she freaked out on me.” 

“Huh.” 

“I wasn’t even asking her to do the hard part!” 

“Which part is the hard part again?” Wilson glared at him. “Oh, wait, I know this one! The penis!” 

“You’re an asshole.” 

House grinned. “You know you love it.” 

Wilson sighed loudly and put his food down. “I knew I couldn’t talk to you about this. Cuddy’s right. You’re a fucking eight-year-old.” He moved to get up, but House’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“You want to be serious about it? Ok. So she didn’t like the idea of you going in the back way. There’s got to be more going on than that.” 

“I — It — It’s not —“ Wilson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to admit his secret and be mocked for it. “I wanted her to do me,” he said in a rush. “I said I’d do the prep, I’d buy the dildo, I’d take care of everything, just…” He opened his eyes and looked over. House’s expression was a mix of humor, understanding and curiosity. He’d never seen an expression like that on his friend’s face before. It was reassuringly far away from the usual contempt or frustration or mocking. “She said it means I’m gay to want that and she won’t believe me when I say I’m not.” 

“You don’t have to be gay to like anal sex,” House pointed out reasonably. 

“I know! And I’m not even sure I like it. I just wanted to _try_ it.” 

“You’ve never done it?” 

“You have?” Wilson demanded, startled. 

“Sure. I had a girlfriend in college who was into it. We went both ways.” House looked away, suddenly feeling over-exposed. “I’m getting more beer,” he said, levering himself up and disappearing to the kitchen. 

“How weird is it gonna be now that we’ve talked about it?” Wilson asked after accepting a beer from House and taking a long pull. 

House tilted his head, considering the question. “Not as weird as it would be if we did it,” he decided. 

“Did it? We? You mean, you and me…?” 

House shrugged and sipped his beer, returning his focus to the TV. 

“Huh,” Wilson grunted. 

“You ever done anything gay?” House asked after a while. 

“Not really.” 

“Not really?” 

“Jerked off with some guys from my Bar Mitzvah class,” Wilson explained. “Josh Cohen found some porn, and five of us got together at his house and…” 

“No touching, though?” 

“No. Nothing like that. Too gay. And at thirteen, that was the biggest insult we could come up with.” 

“Hmm.” 

“You?” Wilson asked. 

“Shared a woman with some guy in med school,” House answered. “We were all high. I don’t remember very much, but she blew us both at the same time, then we took turns fucking her.” 

“So no deliberate contact with him?” 

“Dicks don’t really do it for me.” 

“Me, neither.” 

“I’m endlessly curious, though,” House offered. 

“Yeah?” Wilson finished his beer. “Are we mature enough to try it?” 

“You don’t need maturity to try it,” House countered. “You need maturity to deal with the aftermath.” He paused. “Or we could pretend we never did it and never talk about it.” 

“I like that idea better,” Wilson said. 

“Me, too,” House agreed. 

“So… you want to try it?” 

“We’d need to shower.” 

“Yes!” Wilson exclaimed. “God, yes!” 

House chuckled. He finished his beer. “Go,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom. “I’ll make sure we have what we need.” 

. 

. 

.


	2. Damned if You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Wilson have decided to try having sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is on the 'Explicit' end of the spectrum because -- Spoiler -- they have sex. Because it's the only graphic chapter in the story, I kept the rating for it overall at 'Mature.'

Wilson spent the time in the shower deliberately _not_ thinking about what they were contemplating doing, so to be confronted with House sitting in the living room watching porn and stroking himself made him feel unaccountably nervous. House looked over his shoulder at Wilson’s approach and smiled. Wilson smiled hesitantly back, resisting the urge to adjust his towel, the only thing keeping him modest. They were about to have sex, he reminded himself. No need for modesty.  


“Warm yourself up,” House said, standing and pulling his pants back on. Wilson nodded and changed places with him. “Hey,” House murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder for the second time that night. It was more physical contact than they’d had between them in the last week, and he could feel the warmth on his bare skin. “We don’t have to do this.”  


“I know,” Wilson replied. His eyes flickered over to the screen where a bottle blonde was blowing a guy with a huge dick. He felt a twinge of interest. “But we will.” 

House squeezed his shoulder and went to the bathroom for his shower. Wilson settled on the couch where House had been sitting and turned his attention to the video.  


By the time House returned, Wilson had shifted his focus from himself and was completely focused on the porn. He heard House moving around, but was too interested in the video to pay much attention to him. Until he sat next to him and grabbed his dick, of course. House’s hands were larger and stronger than anyone else’s he’d had touch him before, and he decided rather quickly that it didn’t feel too strange, and might actually feel good. He thought about reaching for House, closed his eyes and let himself feel House’s hand on him, then gave in to the impulse. House grunted and shifted next to him so that they had better angles to work with.  


The scene on screen changed and now there were two women making out in front of Big Dick Man. House batted Wilson’s hand away and shifted, bending, half-laying on the couch. Before Wilson could predict what he was doing, he felt House’s tongue, warm and wet, on his erection. He gasped. It had been months since anyone had done this to him. House’s touch was tentative, careful. He licked, and sucked, and used his hands. He didn’t attempt to deep throat him.  


“This is harder than it looks,” House muttered to himself at one point, rubbing his jaw, and Wilson stroked his fingers through his hair and murmured soothingly in response. He trailed his fingers over House’s cheek, down his face to cup his jaw and massage gently.  


Wilson’s eyes flew open. “You shaved!”  


House pulled off his dick. “You only just noticed? I’ve been sucking you for, like, thirty minutes!”  


“Try ten,” Wilson teased. He let go of House’s hair and ran his fingers across House’s cheeks again. He felt the heat as House turned away, knowing House was blushing and wanted to keep Wilson from seeing. Wilson smiled. “Let me try,” he suggested, tearing his eyes away from the brunette’s carefully shaved pussy and the blonde’s tongue. Big Dick Man stood over them, stroking himself and encouraging them.  


“I never liked it when they shaved everything,” House said, shifting to his back. “It makes them look like kids.”  


“Yeah, but when they don’t, you can’t see anything,” Wilson pointed out. He extended his tongue and licked a broad stripe up House’s erection like he’d seen girls do on countless pornos, holding it still with his hand.  


“They could at least leave some bush,” House muttered. “Clean pussy, but bush.”  


“Are we really talking about this now?”  


“I notice you do a bit of landscaping,” House said. “Better not have used my razor.”  


“Excuse me for being neat,” Wilson grumbled, closing his mouth around the head of House’s cock and sucking, letting his tongue explore the slit and roll around the head.  


“Fuck,” House gasped. “Be as neat as you want, just keep doing that!”  


Wilson smiled in satisfaction and continued. There was something powerful about making his friend gasp and groan, he discovered. Something right about holding House’s dick and imitating the porn on the screen, seeing if House responded the way Big Dick Man did. Then again, House seemed to have a large dick, himself, so who was Wilson to judge? He was bigger than Wilson, at any rate. He used his free hand to jerk himself, wanting to stay hard.  


House grabbed his head and pulled him up his body and kissed him.  


“I —“ he started, wanting to protest that kissing hadn’t been what they’d discussed, but House cut him off.  


“Go with it, James. We’ll never talk about it, so we can do anything.”  


House’s words broke a dam within him, and Wilson kissed back with a ferocity he, and House, hadn’t expected. House whimpered and pulled him closer and wrapped his good leg around Wilson’s waist. Wilson felt their erections sliding together and grabbed them to stroke. House cupped his ass in both hands. He squeezed, spread his cheeks, slipped his fingers down his crack. Wilson raised his head and breathed heavily when House stroked a dry finger over his hole. House took advantage of the situation and kissed his neck.  


“Don’t you dare give me a hickey,” Wilson warned.  


“Course not,” House agreed, sucking and biting. Wilson tried to squirm away, but House had much more powerful upper-body strength and kept him in place. House shifted, letting one hand drift to his lower back and the other to his hair. “A hematoma’s fine, thought, right?” he asked with a teasing lightness in his voice and eyes.  


Wilson couldn’t help but laugh in response. “Bastard,” he muttered. He kissed House’s smile, feeling the lightness in his chest that he saw on House’s face.  


.  


.  


.  


He wasn’t sure who suggested they move to the bed, but Wilson didn’t really care. They were completely curled around each other, naked, still kissing, or maybe kissing again, and nothing had gone wrong yet. With their track record, that was a bit of a surprise. Everything felt — more. Touch felt more intense. Taste felt deeper. He could hear them kissing on a level he’d never heard before. He didn’t have the words to describe it, but he knew he liked it. He heard himself babbling about it.  


“Yeah, that would be the ecstasy I slipped into your beer,” House said. Wilson felt a moment’s irritation, but that quickly dissipated as House fondled his balls. “Figured this’ll go better without all the this-is-new-and-weird-and-with-my-best-friend drama,” House added. “It’ll loosen you up.”  


Wilson nodded at the wisdom, enjoying House’s hand on his sac. “You take some, too?”  


House gave him the ‘duh, of course’ look he’d perfected years ago. “You think I’m gonna miss out on a chance to do drugs?”  


“No, you’re right. Of course not. Do we need more?”  


House laughed, a happy, carefree laugh Wilson hadn’t heard in years. He smiled in response. “Good old Jimmy Wilson,” House murmured, leaning in to kiss his neck where he’d placed the hickey earlier. “So good on the outside, so bad on the inside.”  


“I’m not bad!”  


“You’re having sex with a man on a night your wife expected you home for a holiday dinner with her family, and you don’t seem to have any qualms about it,” House said, though he softened his words by nibbling on Wilson’s ear. “You’re a little drunk and a little high and you want more… I’d say that qualifies as bad.”  


“Ok, so I’m bad sometimes. I’ll blame it on you if anyone ever finds out.”  


House just kept grinning and repositioned them so Wilson was on his hands and knees, facing the foot of the bed while he sat up against the headboard, stroking Wilson’s ass gently.  


“You, uh, you can slap me around a little,” Wilson mumbled, embarrassed and half-hoping House wouldn’t hear.  


“What’s that, Jimmy? You like being slapped?” House asked at a slightly louder than normal volume. He whacked Wilson’s ass with the flat of his hand. Wilson grunted. House hit him again on the other cheek, harder, making Wilson gasp. “Too bad it’s not my thing,” House said. “Maybe this will work instead?” He licked a long wet stripe up Wilson’s crack from his hole. Wilson shuddered and cursed.  


Unlike giving him a blowjob earlier, there was no hesitation in House’s actions as he ate out Wilson’s ass. He seemed to relish every moment, and sighed happily when Wilson relaxed enough that he could slip his tongue inside. He didn’t even seem to mind that Wilson hadn’t thought to neaten the area when he took care of his pubic hair every morning. Panting with need, Wilson didn’t notice at first when House switched to his finger, though he noticed immediately when House inserted a second, well-lubed one. House pressed on his prostate and he cursed.  


“Shit, James, you have no idea what this is doing to me,” House hissed, his fingers moving and stretching and pressing in just the right spot. He started licking again.  


“I think I have some idea,” Wilson answered, opening his eyes to look under himself to see House’s rock-hard erection, well lubed by pre-cum. He lowered himself to a shoulder and reached back to touch House, awkward as the angle was. He cursed again as the angle of House’s fingers shifted and went even deeper into his body, tongue following as deep as it would go.  


“That’s it, darling,” House murmured softly, now pressing kisses along Wilson’s crack and ass and inner thighs. “Let yourself go. Put your hands by your head and feel what I’m doing.” Wilson reluctantly let go of House’s dick and did as he said, wondering at the endearment. He’d never once heard House use one with anyone, unless he was being sarcastic. There was no sarcasm in House’s voice, just care and affection. Wilson closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to the bed.  


“How much do you want to feel it when I go in?”  


Wilson panted for a moment, forcing his brain to process the question. He didn’t have an answer. “Never done it, so don’t know. What do you think?”  


“I think you’re going to be tighter than a nun’s pussy.” House leaned over his body, chest pressed to his back, and kissed Wilson behind the ear. “Relax, James. I’m gonna take good care of you.”  


“I know,” Wilson answered, looking over his shoulder. “I trust you.”  


House blinked in surprise. “Um, yeah.”  


“I do,” Wilson reassured him. House got up on his knees so he could lean farther over and kiss him. It surprised Wilson how ok he was with kissing the man who’d had his tongue up his ass a few minutes earlier, but he was fine with it. Wanted more, actually. If House was willing to _lick_ there, it was only fair to kiss him for it. And he was enjoying the kissing.  


The pressure of House’s cock trying to push past the first ring of muscle made Wilson pull away, hissing at the pain. House rubbed his back, kissed his shoulder, told him he was being good and that he just needed to breathe through it. After several minutes of House coaching his breathing, the head of House’s cock slipped past the rim, and the next, and suddenly he was sliding in easily.  


“Oh, fuuuhhk,” Wilson moaned, this time in pleasure.  


House continued talking, whispering encouragements and filth. It was so like House to talk dirty, so right to hear the graphically sexual things coming out of his mouth. Wilson relaxed even further. House started moving, gently at first, then with more power. Lopsided power, but power. He found Wilson’s prostate. Wilson reached for his cock, but House pushed his hand away and started stroking him with slippery fingers. Wilson tried to express his appreciation, but it came out as a garbled moan of need and want and pleasure.  


“That’s it, James. Let go. Let go and breathe and let me make you feel good.”  


Everything about the night was surreal, but when House had him lie on his back so House could kiss him while he thrust into him, Wilson lost it. He wrapped his legs around House’s waist and his arms around House’s back and kissed him and bared his neck for House’s teeth. He heard himself babbling again, telling House what a big, hard dick he had, telling him exactly how it felt to have it inside him, telling him how wonderful it was and begging him to continue. He felt his orgasm building, growing, ready to burst. He just needed a little more, and please, House, please, just a little more!  


House increased the pace, breathing hard and sweating. Wilson opened his eyes when he felt a drop on his cheek and realized that House was sweating so much that it was rolling off him. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he had a look of absolute concentration on his face.  


“Can’t… keep this up,” he gasped. “Can’t hold back —“  


Wilson wanted to ask House to touch his dick again, but it was clear that House needed both arms to keep himself from falling onto him. He felt a moment of insecurity about House’s leg and how it would hold up to this activity, but then he realized House must have calculated out what he could do and planned for it.  


“Please, James,” House moaned. “Please.”  


Wilson grabbed his dick and tugged. “Now,” he said. “Now.”  


House groaned, sounding almost in pain. Wilson felt him pulse, releasing into the condom, and he let go, let himself squeeze, let himself feel everything, let the white hot pleasure of orgasm take over.  


Wilson was jerked back to himself much quicker than he would have liked when House collapsed onto him, utterly spent. Wilson relaxed his legs, his feet touching the bed while his knees rose above them, though he left his arms around House. He kissed the side of his head. He could feel the rapidness of House’s pulse, hear the raspiness of his breathing and had a moment of fear. Had they pushed too hard?  


After carefully slipping out of Wilson and disposing of the condom, House didn’t move, except the twitching of his damaged thigh and the slowing of his breathing, for five and a half minutes. Wilson counted, cooling himself down with each passing second. Finally, House raised his head from where it rested on Wilson’s chest.  


“If I was five years younger and healthy, I’d want to do that again in ten minutes,” he said before letting his head drop with a thump. “As it is, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”  


Wilson felt his spent cock twitch at the idea of doing it again. He didn’t say anything, just stroked his hands up and down House’s back. He’d liked it, but — He’d _really_ liked it, but —  


“Always loved ass-play,” House said after another few minutes. His hand rested on Wilson’s chest, and he started rubbing his thumb back and forth over Wilson’s nipple and chest hair. “Guess I like it with men, too.”  


“Huh.”  


House raised his head. “You ok?”  


“I think so,” Wilson said, his eyes focused on the ceiling. House nodded to himself and lowered his head.  


.  


.  


.  


Wilson woke when House got out of bed to use the bathroom. He listened in appreciative silence as House went to the piano and played a few songs, ending with “Silent Night.” He wondered if House was sad, but stopped that train of thought. House was miserable, and he doubted anything he could do would make it better, even what they’d just done. House often hired escorts/hookers, after all, and it didn’t seem to make his mood any better.  


He heard House’s footsteps in the hall. He stayed stock still and tried to make his breathing even as House returned, sat down, took a pill or two, undressed, and got back into bed.  


“If you’re gonna sneak out, now’s the time,” House said softly, his voice rough with sleep and his breath smelling of the bourbon he sipped while he played. Wilson tensed. “No judgement here,” House continued. “It’s what I would do.”  


Wilson paused while House settled himself on his back, shifting until he had a position that was comfortable for his leg. “What if I wanted to stay?” he wondered.  


“So stay,” House replied. “We’re still not talking about it if you’re here in the morning.”  


“No, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sleep next to someone who won’t pretend I don’t exist when we wake up.”  


House huffed. “You do realize that if you stay, you’re buying me breakfast, right? And I’m giving it to you again before we go.”  


Wilson smiled in the dark and moved so he could rest his head on House’s chest. House obligingly put an arm around him. “Yeah, I kind of figured that. Won’t be a problem.” House ruffled his hair and kissed him.  


“Good.”  


.  


.  


.


	3. Damned if You Do it Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Christmas Eve comes... New Year's!

They studiously avoided any mention of Christmas Eve and their activities until New Year’s, deftly changing the subject when anything remotely suggestive came up. House explained to his fellows that he and Wilson had a bet going about not talking about sex in front of the other. Foreman bet that Wilson would win, because he talked about it so much less than House, and Chase took House’s side because he knew that House hated to lose. Cameron tried to ignore the whole thing, upset that House had given her a mug that had a picture of the Grinch on it, when she’d spent a lot of time picking out a collection of CDs she thought he’d appreciate. At some level, though, she’d been surprised he got her anything, with his disdain for the holiday.  


Wilson stepped up beside House as he waited for the elevator to go home on New Year’s Eve. He hadn’t been by House’s apartment all week and felt the strain of being at home with his wife.  


“You coming over?” House asked casually as they stepped onto the elevator.  


“Yeah,” Wilson answered. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on his briefcase, reminding him of what he had inside. “My wife’s out of town visiting her sister, so…”  


“The hot twin?”  


“Jennifer, yes.”  


“Why aren’t you with her?”  


“You know.”  


“She’s still upset about that?” House guessed.  


“She told me we have to go to marriage counseling.”  


“Wow.”  


Wilson sighed again. “So, I’ll pick up some food?”  


“Sounds good.”  


Wilson hesitated at House’s car. “Do you… do you need anything else?”  


House tilted his head, watching Wilson blush in the streetlight. “I’ve got it,” he answered. For a brief moment, Wilson wondered if House would kiss him. But then the moment passed and House unlocked his car. “See you, James.”  


“See you,” Wilson whispered after House drove away.  


.  


.  


.  


The evening started out normally. Food, beer, tv. Innocuous. Innocent. Wilson felt the item in his briefcase burning a hole in his mind. Would he mention it? What would House say? Should he just get it and pop it in the dvd player, because they weren’t talking about it?  


“We’re still not talking about it,” House said into the conversational silence while they watched the New Year’s coverage on tv. “But, if you wanted —“  


“I got a video,” Wilson blurted, rushing to get the words out. “Educational,” he explained.  


“Of course,” House said with a chuckle. “Leave it to you to find something _educational.”_  


Wilson reached into his briefcase and pulled out the disk, still in its case and cellophane wrapper.  


“You haven’t watched it yet,” House commented, tearing a corner of the plastic with his teeth to get at the case.  


“I’m not the only one who needs to learn how to do it,” Wilson muttered in reply. House laughed harder. “What?”  


“How long have you had this?”  


“Since… two days after Christmas,” he admitted.  


House reached behind his couch cushion and pulled out the exact same dvd, also still in its packaging. Wilson’s eyes widened. “I figured it might come in handy,” House explained, tossing it away in favor of opening Wilson’s copy. Wilson met his eyes and saw humor and a bit of embarrassment. Wilson allowed himself to relax.  


“So, what now?”  


“Now we watch a video.”  


.  


.  


.  


It amazed Wilson how much better blow jobs were with a little instruction. Afterwards, they put themselves back together and drank bourbon and watched the ball drop. Wilson rested his head on House’s shoulder, and House put an arm around him the way he had in bed the week before. It was exactly how Wilson wanted to spend the night.  


Well, the start of the night, anyway.  


Fortunately, House was in complete agreement, and after a pair of hasty showers, they retreated to the bedroom. It was even better than the first two times, and Wilson fell asleep curled against House with a smile on his face, his body relaxed and sated.  


.  


.  


.


	4. Damned if You Do it Over and Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After New Year's Eve and their second tryst, what happens between House and Wilson?

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t acknowledge it. They didn’t reference it where anyone could hear, though occasionally House would give Wilson a look that promised an energetic evening if Wilson were to visit. Wilson always visited those nights, because House’s leg wasn’t up for that kind of action every day, and two or three times a month didn’t seem like too often to stay away from home overnight.  


House continued to throw innuendos Wilson’s way, of course, and Wilson flirted back with his usual banter because House clearly expected to maintain the status quo in public. He couldn’t help the small thrill it gave him, or the sparks of desire. He also couldn’t help how excited he was that whenever he went to House’s apartment there was a 50:50 chance of making out, hand jobs, or blowjobs, if sex itself was off the menu, even when he didn’t stay over. There was a subtle way they’d look at each other that would indicate interest, no words needed.  


And it wasn’t long before they started switching, as House had admitted that first night that he was open to both ways and Wilson remained curious.  


Wilson’s marriage slowly deteriorated. They spent several months yelling at each other in couple’s counseling before deciding that it was making things worse, so they stopped going. He didn’t think the deterioration had anything to do with House, but he couldn’t be sure. He never told his wife, and she didn’t ask. And he wasn’t staying over at House’s any more often than he used to stay at the hospital or at House’s to avoid a night with his wife, even if he was now having sex with House occasionally.  


They had a huge fight when House slept with Stacy. Wilson hadn’t minded the flirting, or the posturing, or House wanting to piss off her husband, but sleeping together made something inside him snap. Wilson confronted House in the bathroom at work, punched the paper towel dispenser hard enough to bruise himself, and called House every nasty name he could think of. House stood his ground and told Wilson to suck his dick, because they weren’t doing anything and Wilson had no say about his behavior anyway.  


“You better choose, House,” Wilson snarled, getting up close in his face. “Because if you’re sleeping with her, and we’re not doing anything, that means we’re not doing _anything_ , and you can go fuck yourself for all I care.”  


House sent Stacy away.  


The make-up sex that night was some of the best sex they’d ever had, and Wilson cancelled his appointments and volunteered for Clinic duty the next day because sitting down was a bit more than his body could handle. They didn’t talk about it, of course, and ’Stacy’ became the word Wilson hissed in House’s ear when he was too out of control at work about something and needed to check himself. It didn’t always make House change his mind, but it often shocked him out of whatever destructive path he was on long enough for logic to come back. Wilson used it sparingly.  


Then Wilson’s wife left him, and he only had one place to go.  


“Can I stay with you for a few nights?” he asked House, standing on his doorstep with nothing but his briefcase and a small suitcase.  


“You told her,” House accused.  


“Actually, she told me. She’s been having an affair.”  


“So’ve you,” House pointed out.  


“Is that what this is?” Wilson wondered.  


“What else would it be?” House replied. “It’s been more than a year.”  


“Has it been that long already?”  


“Christmas of ’04,” House said. “That’s closer to a year and a half.” He held the door open for Wilson.  


“I guess I didn’t think about it that way,” Wilson finally admitted. “We never talk about it.”  


“And we’re not starting now,” House said quickly.  


“Does that mean I’m staying on the couch?”  


“Don’t be an idiot.”  


.  


.  


.  


“Dr. House, Dr. Wilson, you’re late.”  


Wilson turned, his cheeks pink from rushing, to see Cuddy standing by the reception desk.  


“He turned off my alarm,” Wilson explained, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at House. “And he took my watch, phone and pager.”  


“Don’t forget the extra emergency cell you keep in your briefcase,” House added, draping an arm over Wilson’s shoulders and tapping his chest with the phone in his hand.  


“Huh. Thought I’d left that at work,” Wilson said, taking it from him and making a half-hearted move to dislodge his arm, which House resisted.  


“Care to explain why you’re an hour and a half late?” Cuddy asked, her focus now on House.  


“I needed a ride,” House answered.  


“You needed a ride,” Cuddy repeated incredulously. “You have a car _and_ a motorcycle. Why would you need a ride?”  


“My leg hurt,” House added.  


“Your leg always hurts.”  


“It hurt more than usual.”  


Cuddy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Any idea why it hurt more than usual?”  


“I stayed up late screwing Wilson,” House said proudly.  


“That’s right, House. That’s exactly what you were doing,” Wilson responded, shrugging off House’s arm and moving away, his voice a careful mix of sarcasm and exasperation.  


“Oh, did I forget a word? Screwing _with_ Wilson,” House corrected himself. “Those tiny little words, such large implications.”  


“Right,” Cuddy said, clearly not believing a single word of what House said, as he’d intended.  


“Anyway, got to go, lives to save,” House declared, walking away.  


Cuddy turned to Wilson. “What really happened?” she asked.  


“He really did turn off my alarm and take my stuff,” Wilson said. “I’m staying with him for a while,” he explained when Cuddy motioned for him to continue. “My wife left me yesterday.”  


“Oh, James, I’m so sorry,” she said, giving him an awkward, one-armed hug around the back. He shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think you can work it out?”  


“Probably not. She's been having an affair.”  


“How long will you stay with House?” 

Wilson shrugged, not knowing the answer himself. He and House hadn’t talked about that, nor were they likely to. He figured they’d do whatever it was they were doing until one of them got tired of it or started dating someone. There was something nice about being able to sleep with House and not have to worry about excuses, though. There was something nice about waking up to sex and House’s gruff demand for breakfast afterwards, though he knew he’d have to curb that behavior pattern if they were going to get to work on time. There was something nice about the way House told him, _“don’t take all the closet space when you bring your stuff over. I know what a clothes horse you are.”_ It made him feel wanted. It almost made him feel —  


“Take care of yourself,” Cuddy said, bringing him back to the present. “And get another alarm!”  


Wilson sighed and nodded, leaving her to go to his office and start his day.  


.  


.  


.


	5. Damned if You Don't, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson has a secret... And House doesn't like it.

“I won’t be able to give you a ride tomorrow,” Wilson said as he hung his tie in the closet. House, on the bed reading The Journal of Immunology, frowned. Wilson could see it in the mirror. He continued undressing.  


“Why not? You always give me a ride on Fridays.”  


“I’ll be going in late. I’m seeing a realtor about finding a place for myself. I can’t stay here forever.”  


House’s frown deepened. “And when were you going to tell me this?”  


“I’m telling you now.”  


House put aside the journal and his reading glasses. He flicked off the bedside light.  


“Hey!” Wilson protested. “I’m not ready yet.”  


“Fuck off,” House growled.  


A pillow hit Wilson in the chest. “Uh…”  


“You know where the couch is,” House added, the sheets and blankets rustling as he settled himself. Wilson sighed and left the room.  


.  


.  


.  


“Greg, please talk to me,” Wilson said, ambushing House on the way to the lecture hall where his potential fellows waited. “I’ve been on the couch for a week!”  


“Not my problem,” House responded, brushing past him.  


“We need to talk —“  


“No, we don’t. That’s the agreement. We don’t talk about it. We never talk about it.”  


“I just thought it would be nice to have a little space…”  


“You’ve got it.” House disappeared into the room, leaving Wilson in the hall feeling alone and angry.  


.  


.  


.  


“You’re dating someone,” House declared as he banged into Wilson’s office a few weeks after Wilson moved out. “That’s what this ‘space’ thing is all about, isn’t it?”  


“So what if I am?” Wilson demanded. “It’s none of your business.”  


“Of course it’s my business!”  


“Why?” Wilson asked, daring House to say something about their relationship. He doubted it would come to that. They hadn’t talked about their relationship when House got shot, when Wilson spent three days at his bedside, beside himself with worry, and they hadn’t talked about it when Tritter trashed their apartment and accused Wilson of writing scrips for his lover, something that was blatantly unethical. They’d gotten through all that without talking. For some reason, though, Wilson wanted them to talk about this. It felt like a turning point.  


“Because if it was your business that I slept with Stacy, this is my business.”  


“Different circumstances.”  


“Because we used to live together and now we don’t?” House asked. “You probably moved out so you could fuck her.”  


“Well, I couldn’t exactly bring her home to have sex on your couch, could I?” Wilson barked, standing. “And it’s not like _we’d_ been doing it lately,” Wilson muttered. “I was on the couch for three weeks before I moved out!”  


House grunted and turned away. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned back. “It’s someone we both know,” he decided. “That’s the only other reason you’d hide it from me. Who is she?”  


Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, but didn’t answer.  


“We only know 12 people in common. Can’t be Cuddy,” he mused. “Can’t be Cameron or Stacy.”  


“My ex-wives hate me,” Wilson pointed out.  


“No, they don’t. They should, but they don’t.”  


“House…”  


“Who is she?” House repeated.  


“It doesn’t matter.”  


“Who —“  


The door opened after a brief knock, banging into House. He shifted over a few paces, leaning heavily on his cane. Amber Volakis walked in, a smile on her face for Wilson. She glanced at House.  


“Dr. House,” she said, nodding.  


“Cutthroat Bitch,” he responded.  


“I call her Amber,” Wilson interjected.  


House’s eyes flashed angrily. He left the office without a word.  


“What’s up with him?” Amber asked.  


“The usual, dying patient,” Wilson mumbled.  


“You ready for lunch?”  


“Sure.”  


.  


.  


.  


“Um, Dr. Wilson? Dr. House asked me to give you this.” Wilson looked up from his paperwork to see Kuttner standing in his doorway extending an envelope. He took it from the younger man and sighed. It was addressed to ‘James,’ something House only called him at home, back when they’d lived together.  


“Thanks,” he said. He tossed the envelope in his desk to read later.  


“He, um, he told me to wait until you’d read it,” Kuttner said apologetically.  


Wilson sighed again and tore open the letter.  


.  
_James,_  
_I could do this when you were still with your ex-wife, but after the scene about Stacy, I realized that was only because she’d already been there when it started. I won’t be able to keep doing it if you continue to date CB._  
_Make your choice._  
_Greg  
_

.  


Wilson blinked. So that’s what last night had been about! House had invited him over, actually paid for the takeout himself, and taken him to bed for the first time in weeks. It had been wonderful, and it made Wilson miss their easy, no-nonsense relationship, however undefined and undiscussed it was.  


It made sense, now. House had been trying to remind him of what they had in preparation for sending this note. He wanted Wilson aware of what he’d be losing if he stayed with Amber.  


Wilson thought about the conversation with House from the day before, when House had compared himself to Amber, declaring in the end that Wilson might as well date _him,_ they were so alike. Wilson had walked away thinking that House must be jealous of her, and the sex that night had only made the feeling stronger. Why else would House want sex for the first time in close to two months?  


Is that what House wanted, though? To date him? To make it official? He frowned and shook his head. No, House still didn’t want to talk about it, as evidenced by the letter. Nor did Wilson want to talk about it. That was the beauty of it, after all. They didn’t talk about it, barely acknowledged it outside the apartment, and knew what it was without having to spend hours processing their feelings.  


“Dr. Wilson?” Kuttner asked, breaking him out of his reverie.  


Wilson cleared his throat. “Tell him — Tell him I’ll think about it,” he said. Kuttner looked like he was about to ask something, but he apparently changed his mind and left.  


.  


.  


.  


The apartment was dark, except for a small light in the hall House always left on and the light under the closed bedroom door, when Wilson let himself in. He took off his shoes and hung up his coat as quietly as he could, in case House was sleeping. Knowing the man, however, he figured he was awake, obsessing over the note, their ‘relationship,’ the similarities between himself and Amber, and whether or not Wilson would choose him. He’d probably decided Wilson chose her, Wilson thought. He walked towards the bedroom.  


“Come to let me down in person?” House barked when Wilson pushed open the door. He was still dressed, a further sign of his discomfort, and there was a bottle of bourbon on his nightstand next to an empty glass. Yep, convinced he was the loser, Wilson decided.  


Wilson poured himself some bourbon in House’s glass and swallowed it, enjoying the burn as it went down his throat. “Already let someone down tonight,” Wilson said. He sat on the edge of the bed and raised a hand to cup House’s cheek. “I’m not doing it a second time. I’m here to apologize.” He stroked House’s stubbled cheek with his thumb. “I shouldn’t have moved out.” House turned his face away. “I won’t be seeing her anymore,” Wilson continued. “You were right. She was attractive because she’s so much like you.”  


House snorted in disbelief.  


“Can I move back in?”  


“Will we have to have this conversation again?” House asked.  


“No.”  


“Then, ok.”  


Wilson leaned in for a kiss, grateful when House responded.  


.  


.  


.


	6. Damned if You Need More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Amber out of the picture, life returns to normal for House and Wilson. Except House is still House, isn't he?

Wilson arrived unannounced at Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital three days after House’s mandatory two-week no-contact detox. He found House sitting on a chair at the far end of the day room, by himself, staring out the window at the overcast sky. He grabbed a chair and plopped down into it beside him.  


“What’re you doing here?” House asked without turning his head.  


“You didn’t call,” Wilson replied. “I was worried.”  


“I’m fine,” House said. He tapped his cane and continued ignoring Wilson.  


“I brought lunch,” Wilson said ten minutes later, holding up a paper bag.  


“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” House demanded, grabbing the bag and looking inside. He stood and motioned Wilson to follow him to an empty table. The silence as they ate felt more comfortable to Wilson.  


“Have you figured everyone out yet?” Wilson asked after a while.  


“Yeah, it’s totally boring.”  


A heavyset black man in a sweater vest walked up to their table. “You’re supposed to be in my office, Greg,” he said once he had House’s attention.  


“Sorry, visitor,” House replied, mouth full of sandwich.  


“Dr. James Wilson,” Wilson said, rising and extending his hand. “I’m House’s —“  


“Best friend,” House interrupted.  


“Daryl Nolan,” the man said, shaking Wilson’s hand and giving him an odd look. “Greg’s psychiatrist.”  


“If there’s anything I can do…”  


“I’ll let you know.”  


“No, you won’t,” House said. “I don’t want you going near Wilson. Or talking to him. Or telling him anything.”  


“He’s listed as your emergency contact,” Dr. Nolan pointed out. “I have a signed release.”  


“Yeah, yeah,” House muttered. “Whatever.” He hadn’t looked up once.  


“I should probably go,” Wilson said, tapping his fingers on the table to get House’s attention. House reached out and grabbed his wrist. Wilson looked down.  


“Stay,” House whispered. “I’ve got at least ten more minutes to see visitors before they kick you out.” Wilson nodded and sat. House’s hand covered his in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. Neither of them noticed Dr. Nolan’s intense scrutiny of their exchange. “Thanks for coming.”  


“I’ll come again, if you want,” Wilson said.  


“Thanks.” House looked up, noticed Nolan, and pulled his hand back. “Get out of here,” he snarled at the other doctor, waving him away.  


Nolan smirked and turned away after another look at House. “Ten minutes, Greg,” he said over his shoulder.  


House scowled, but didn’t respond verbally.  


“I noticed there’s a piano over there,” Wilson commented after a minute.  


“It’s out of tune.”  


“I’m sure —“  


“They don’t have the money to tune it.”  


“I’ll pay for —“  


“They don’t let residents play,” House interrupted.  


“What? That’s ridiculous!”  


“Not if you’ve heard some of these idiots,” House grumbled. “There’s a woman who comes to see her friend every so often. They’ll open it for her, so I thought I’d flirt with her a little, get her to let me play…”  


“I’ll make sure it gets tuned,” Wilson said. House looked up and met his eyes. “What? Music’s important to you. I know how it calms you down. They’d be stupid to keep you from it. It’s a — what’s the word? — Coping Skill. Besides, there’s a conversation we didn’t have that we agreed we’re not going to have again, so I’m not worried about the flirting.”  


“I miss you,” House said, taking Wilson’s hand again and lifting it to kiss his knuckles.  


“I, uh, I miss you, too,” Wilson replied, stunned at the heartfelt confession.  


“No, I mean it.”  


“I know you do. So do I.”  


“Nolan’s gonna ask about you,” House said with a sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  


“So, don’t. That’s worked for us.” House nodded and let go of Wilson’s hand.  


“Bring condoms when you come back. I’ll find us somewhere to do it.” He grinned. Wilson smiled back.  


.  


.  


.  


Wilson found House in his office. “The operation is in two hours,” he said. “I’d like you to be there.”  


House paused, many emotions passing over his face. He settled on determined. “No.”  


Wilson stepped back in surprise. “What? Why?”  


“If you die on that table, I’m alone,” House whispered, looking directly into Wilson’s eyes. It was a moment of clarity for Wilson. House wanted him alive. House needed him alive, and not just because they were friends or sleeping together, or because House needed a roommate after his hospitalization. “I can’t risk losing you for some self-important jerk who doesn’t even know your name,” House continued.  


Wilson swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Greg…”  


“Don’t do it, James,” House said, limping around his desk without his cane to pull Wilson into an embrace, no care for the glass walls. “I know we don’t talk about it, or anything associated with it, but… please don’t do this. With my luck, you’ll die, and I can’t — I just can’t imagine — Don’t leave me alone,” he finished, a small sob choking the rest of his words.  


Wilson hugged him back, overwhelmed by the raw emotion in House’s voice, by the newfound candor that cropped up more frequently since House returned from Mayfield. “Ok,” he whispered into House’s shoulder. “Ok. I’ll cancel it.”  


.  


.  


.


	7. Damned if You Talk About it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas time rolls around again for our boys.

“Merry Christmas,” Wilson said, handing House a wrapped present. House tilted his head and frowned. “What? It’s a present. People give them to each other on special occasions…”  


“I’m just trying to figure out where you hid it,” House explained, accepting the gift. “It wasn’t at the apartment, and I looked through your office yesterday, but you’ve clearly put thought into this, as it’s wrapped…”  


“Just accept it, ok?” Wilson interrupted.  


House put the present on his desk and opened a drawer, producing a gift wrapped in blue and white. “Happy Hannukah,” he said.  


Wilson held the present, turning it over in his hands. If felt like a book. They had hundreds of books at House’s apartment, hundreds more at the condo, and even more at work.  


“Thank you,” he said.  


“You’re not going to open it?” House asked, sounding slightly disappointed.  


“I’ll open it at home,” Wilson explained.  


“Yeah, that might be better,” House mused. He tapped the present on his desk, then handed it back to Wilson. “Hold onto this for me,” he said.  


At home that night in their new condo, Wilson opened the package and found a leather-bound book with his name printed in gold lettering along the front and spine. He looked to House who motioned for him to open it. Inside Wilson found a collection of every single paper and article he’d ever published, even the one he’d been added to by his advisor at the last minute when he was a first-year med student. No one had ever given him such a romantic gift in his entire life. He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and wiped them away. He flipped to the front and read the inscription from House.  


.  


_Dear James,  
_

_Five years ago we tried something new, and it changed both of our lives. I might still be the angry, bitter, misanthropic asshole you kissed that night, but there are times when I feel genuinely content when I’m with you. There are even times when I forget about my leg.  
_

_It’s time we talked about what this is.  
_

_I love you.  
_

_Greg  
_

.  


Wilson looked up from the book to see a seriousness on his lover’s face that he rarely saw outside of a life-threatening situation with a patient. He swallowed the lump in his throat.  


“My present’s pretty lame, after this,” he blurted, embarrassed and not sure what to say. House’s lip twitched down and he looked away. “Hey, don’t look away. I don’t know why I said that.”  


“James,” House whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, say something real.”  


“I love you, too,” Wilson said quickly. “I didn’t think we’d acknowledge it, but I’ve felt it for a long time. Probably longer than I want to admit.”  


“It’s time, James,” House said. “I’d like to come out at work.”  


“You mean, as boyfriends, or something?”  


“As partners. Lovers.”  


Wilson considered this for a moment. Could he come out at work as being House’s partner, his lover? He found the answer much quicker than he expected. “Ok. We’ll have to tell my parents, too. And your mother.”  


House nodded agreement. Wilson waited, seeing that House seemed to have something else on his mind.  


“And…”  


“And?” he prompted.  


“I’d be comfortable going without condoms,” House said softly, looking away again.  


Wilson’s jaw dropped open. He couldn’t find his voice, he was so startled.  


“I trust you, ok?” House growled. “You stopped dating CB when I asked, and you’ve only been with me since. You helped me get through Mayfield. I’ve been off the pills for a while, and you’re helping me stay clean. You got us this condo and bought me the organ…”  


“I don’t know what to say,” Wilson murmured. “I’ve never done that… not once.”  


“Not with any of your wives? Not as a horny teen?”  


“I’m Jewish. My mother put the fear of God in me that I’d get some girl pregnant and have to become a butcher, or something. With my wives, well, Sam and I were too young for kids, Bonnie wasn’t sure if she wanted them or not, so we decided to wait, and Julie had a bad reaction to birth control when she was younger and insisted on them.”  


“A butcher?”  


“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”  


“I like what we have. I want to keep doing it,” House said.  


“So we’ll keep doing it,” Wilson replied. “Do we have to keep talking about it, though?”  


“Maybe not for another five years.” House leaned over and kissed him.  


.  


.  


.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Wilson agreed to come out at work, but... Wilson's still timid and House is House.

Wilson stood by his neighbor’s door and took a deep breath to steady himself before knocking. She answered a moment later.  


“James? What can I do for you?” she asked.  


“Hi, Nora. Remember when I said House wasn’t my boyfriend?” Wilson said, feeling a blush on his cheeks. “And you didn’t believe me? It turns out you were right. I just didn’t want to admit it.”  


“Why don’t you come in,” she said, opening her door fully. She had an open smile on her face, and she seemed pleased to talk to him. She poured him a glass of wine and they sat on the sofa together.  


“We work together,” Wilson said, deciding to start with something easy. “And last month we, um, we talked about coming out…” He trailed off, feeling awkward and ridiculous. “But, well, it hasn’t happened. Neither of us have really, well, we’re not comfortable… I mean, he’s a very private person… And I wanted to, you know, do something to out us…”  


He looked up from his glass to meet her eyes.  


“Do you know a good jeweler?”  


“You want to propose to him?” she asked, holding her hands to her chest, her eyes sparkling with excitement.  


“I guess.” Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. “We don’t really talk about what we are, so this seemed like the only way to, you know, let him know how serious I am about him without having to, you know, talk.”  


“He said you bought the condo so you could live together,” she said. “That sounds pretty serious.”  


“Yeah, but there were other circumstances around that. I want to do something that other people will be able to see and know that we’re together. Something that he can’t deny.”  


She smiled widely. “I know just the place.”  


.  


.  


.  


House stared at Wilson, unable to form a single word in his head for the first time in his life. Here was Wilson: down on one knee, holding out a ring, proposing to him in a crowded restaurant.  


“Wow,” he exclaimed, not sure how he managed even that.  


“Say yes!” an older woman urged from a neighboring table. He looked over, glanced at Nora across from him, looked back at Wilson who raised an eyebrow in entreaty.  


He stood, and Wilson stood, and Wilson offered the ring again. House plucked it from the satin lining of the box and turned it over in his fingers. A gold pinky ring with the Rod of Asclepius carved into it, it was a stunning piece of craftsmanship, and not the usual gold band that he so despised for all its pathetic symbolism and societal assumptions. Very masculine. Something he could see both of them wearing.  


He smiled. Wilson smiled. He put the ring on his finger and his smile grew. Wilson’s eyes widened in wonder.  


“What took you so long?” House murmured, putting his hands on either side of Wilson’s face and drawing him into a chaste kiss that quickly became more passionate.  


They called in sick to work because they spent hours upon hours having sex and got no sleep that night. Wilson teased House that neither of them could walk anymore after how vigorously House pounded his ass, and House tackled him to the bed for another round. Then Wilson woke from an orgasm-induced nap at three in the morning to find House preparing himself, and the sight turned him on so much he practically tore into him, desire and need taking over.  


By the time they finally made it into work, they were exhausted but happy, matching grins on their faces and matching rings on their fingers. House, completely in-character, burst into Cuddy’s office, dragging Wilson by the hand, to tell her the news as loudly and lewdly as he could manage. Then he repeated the scene with his fellows, letting go of Wilson’s hand to hold the back of his neck.  


“And if any of you even _think_ of screwing Wilson, you’re fired,” he declared. “He’s mine.”  


“How long —?” Chase blurted.  


“I don’t want to know!” Taub interrupted.  


“Depends what you’re asking,” House said to Chase.  


“How long have you been together?”  


“Since Christmas,” Wilson answered.  


“That’s not even two months!” Thirteen exclaimed.  


“Of ’04,” House clarified.  


“Over five years,” Wilson added.  


“And you rag on me about being bi,” she muttered.  


“Never said I wasn’t,” House replied. “It’s just fun to watch you squirm.”  


.  


.  


.

End.


End file.
